


Flight of Dreams

by Chya



Category: CI5: The New Professionals
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chya/pseuds/Chya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sam is gunned down, Chris gets to play with a jet fighter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To Jill for Kleon and comma-patrol and mostly for her encouragement and support, and to Jennie for saying nice things about this.

Craig Durrell stared through the windscreen at the infinite sky ahead, his brown eyes glassy and sweat beading his brow.

"Take me home," she whispered into his brain, seductive, enthralling and persuasive. "We can be together forever."

"We're nearly there, babes," he told her, though it came out as more of a sob. The sane part of him was scared, terrified of what she was making him do. But the part of him that was hers was the part that dreamed, the part that held his heart and wanted to be with her forever.

Her promises to fulfil his most intrinsic desires had all been met so far, and Craig knew that she was guiding him to his ultimate fulfilment. He ignored the nagging voice tickling the back of his brain and turned off the urgent commands punching through his communications link.

Craig banked to the right until he saw the Atlantic Ocean glinting in the sunlight far below. With a mere thought he wished them down there, together, and she joined him in victorious laughter as they plummeted, achieving terminal velocity.

His last thought as they hit the sea was that finally he was free.

*****

Keel glanced at Curtis, standing in the middle of the poorly lit warehouse, talking to the man, Jaric, in the expensive charcoal silk suit.

Chris returned his gaze to his own opposite number, Grigori, dressed like himself in shades of black, his revolver drawn but held muzzle down, loosely in front of him. Chris held his own Beretta in a similar fashion. They stood on opposite sides of the two men engaged in deep conversation, each close enough to see the other's breath crystallizing in the cold air, yet each far enough away that they could only hear muttering from the two men in the middle.

Somewhere up in the roof of the warehouse Backup and her counterpart would be eyeing each other similarly, each armed with a rifle, each waiting for the other to make an inappropriate move.

But Chris couldn't help but feel there was something wrong. He had nothing to base this on; it was just a hunch, a sensation that there was someone else in the warehouse, someone who didn't belong. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in sympathy.

Something scuttled suddenly behind some wooden crates, and Sam leapt to protect Jaric while Keel and Grigori, with simultaneous speed and precision, brought their guns to bear.

Each withheld their fire as a large brown rat looked at them with disapproval before pattering away back behind the crates.

All four men laughed a little nervously. Chris and Grigori shared a nod of mutual respect, while Sam and Jaric dusted themselves off and went back to their conversation.

Chris slipped over to the crates to check that no unexpected guests had disturbed the rat. Satisfied that all was as it should be, he started back to the middle of the warehouse.

All hell broke loose.

Chris dove behind the crates, noting with professional detachment that Sam, Jaric and Grigori were on the floor, unmoving, Curtis covering Jaric with his own body.

Gunshots seemed to be coming from everywhere at once and Chris worked to pick off as many as he could, waiting for tiny flame bursts in dark corners to give up the locations of the attackers. Grunts of pain were the only clues he had that he'd found at least some of his marks. He tried to move out from behind the crates for a better vantage point, but a flurry of bullets in his direction dissuaded him.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it was over.

After a few moments of silence, Chris took his own life in his hands and crept cautiously out from behind the crates. Keeping to the walls and shadows he checked every nook and cranny, looking for signs of the attackers. There were none to be found. Even where he was sure he had hit his target there were no signs save a trace of blood here, or a pool of blood there.

He met Backup and her counterpart, a dour looking man by the name of Drasic, coming cautiously down the stairs. "All secure upstairs," she told Chris, a worried frown creasing her brow. She indicated the main floor. "They haven't moved."

"I know. Waiting for the all clear?"

"They are dead," Drasic stated soberly.

"Let's go see, shall we?" Backup smiled coldly at Drasic and pushed past him, accompanying Chris out onto the main floor. All three of them walked in with care, guns ready for use at just a millisecond's notice, their eyes darting about, watchful for any movement.

Backup and Drasic stood guard as Chris checked the three men. Grigori lay sprawled in a growing pool of his own blood, riddled with bullets, sightless eyes staring.

Sam was lying on top of Jaric who looked as though he were sleeping, though the rattle in his lungs spoke of an imminent demise. Chris found a pulse at Sam's throat, irregular and weak. He rolled his partner over gently, not really wanting to move him but knowing that he had to free the man underneath.

He sucked in an involuntary breath. Sam's pale blue shirt was saturated with blood, not only that of Jaric. Chris could see at least two holes in his partner's shirt where bullets had penetrated.

He worked fast to make pads from both his own and Sam's shirt, pressing them tightly against the wounds on Sam's torso, trying to staunch the bleeding. He heard Backup dimly in the background calling for ambulances.

Chris' entire being focussed on stopping his partner from bleeding to death, but as the minutes ticked by Sam's pallor grew alarmingly ashen and his breathing started to slow. Chris was barely aware of the sirens, of Backup pulling him away as medics tended to the injured. The ambulance disappeared and, with no room for passengers, Chris was left standing dazed with Backup.

His gaze wandered over to Drasic and Grigori, and he stared at them without seeing for what seemed an age. But then he blinked, and the world suddenly jumped into sharp relief as awareness returned.

Drasic was holding Grigori's head in his lap, stroking the dead man's cheek tenderly. The dour man seemed to feel Keel's eyes on him and looked up. Chris was shocked at the naked grief in the man's face. Drasic shook in his efforts to keep the tears from spilling, but those efforts were futile as evidenced by the glistening tracks down his cheeks.

"This was supposed to be safe," Drasic whispered brokenly. "You let them die..."

*****

Stephen Forster looked at the four men in front of him in disgust. Action men all of them, used to life-threatening stunts and laughing in the face of carefully monitored danger. And all reduced to quivering globs of jelly at the mere thought of piloting a state-of-the-art, multi-billion dollar aircraft.

They were adamant, both singularly and together, that they would not set foot inside Project Epsilon. They had even threatened to resign. He had called their bluff, of course, and they in turn had called his. He'd lost.

He dismissed the men coldly, making sure they knew that good references would not be forthcoming from him.

Retiring to the executive bathroom, Forster splashed cold water over his face and looked at himself in the mirror. He was in his early thirties and good-looking in a yuppie kind of way, but right now bags under his eyes and a permanent frown made him look older.

The company only retained four test pilots, and now they had none.

First Craig Durrell had snapped and crashed the first Epsilon prototype, killing himself and leaving little of the aircraft for the company to salvage. That had been twelve months ago.

The second prototype was ready and, while the three remaining pilots had done a lot of simulated work, they had steadfastly refused to do so much as touch the actual plane.

One of the pilots, Bill Evans, had been Craig's best friend and had performed a couple of tests himself on the original aircraft, tests that had left him shocked and unable to sleep for days after. Two of the others had watched Craig change from an arrogant carefree sky-jockey to an obsessive, paranoid maniac and, after Bill's close calls, they simply did not want to go there. The fourth, Craig's replacement, had heard about Craig and the first prototype but didn't really know why he objected to Epsilon except that the plane gave him the heebie-jeebies every time he went near it.

So now Forster had a plane with no pilot. There were plenty of unemployed pilots, but he needed a pilot he could trust given the expense of the machine. The Ministry of Defence held a large interest in his company, so he decided to call the Minister and prayed that she wouldn't think him mad.

*****

The dream was the same; it never changed. The exhilaration of flying followed by the joy of loving, then the massacre with all the emotional baggage that went with it. Always it ended with him holding her lifeless body, helpless yet again to prevent the tragedy, her father lying beside him, accusing in death.

Except that this time there was something different. The face of the lifeless man beside him was no longer her father, but his partner.

Chris woke up with a gasp, eyes wide and almost colourless. He wiped a hand over his face as he stretched cramped muscles and glanced at the bed. Sam was still lying motionless, held captive in the web of tubes and wires and Chris scrubbed his hands through his hair in frustration.

"I should have listened to my gut," he muttered softly. "I knew something was wrong."

"If you'd listened to your gut," croaked a voice from Sam's direction, "you'd have been off getting a Big Mac instead of shooting bad guys."

Chris smiled. "And where were you? You're supposed to duck, not see how many bullets you can catch."

"I'm fine, thank you for asking," Sam grumbled weakly. "When can I go home?"

*****

Drasic stood at the foot of his lover's grave, fighting to hold back the tears that refused to stop falling. Grigori had been someone special, someone who had made him feel special, something he'd never previously even dreamed of. Now, he felt as though a gaping hole resided within him where his heart and soul used to be.

"Drasic...?"

He looked up at the whispered voice calling his name to see a short blonde young woman standing a few feet away, worry creasing her features. "Aisha... I am coming."

"When you're ready, Drasic," she smiled sorrowfully at him. "You have plenty of time before we have to go."

"Thank you. I will be – myself – shortly."

*****

"Hey, Sam, take it easy, willya!" Chris intercepted his partner as he hobbled towards his front door. "Slow down, you're not fit enough to be standing, let alone walking!"

"My sofa," wheezed Sam breathlessly, "I need... my sofa."

Chris rolled his eyes at his partner's stubbornness and knew by the focussed determination emanating from Curtis' entire body that the Englishman was going to make it to that sofa come hell or high water. To aid Sam's progress he opened the door and made sure the way was clear. Having taken three bullets for Jaric, it would be a while before the Englishman was going anywhere in a hurry. He'd been lucky in that one had simply grazed his side and the second had passed straight through flesh at his shoulder, but the third had almost taken him out permanently, lodging neatly between his ribs and nicking his right lung. He'd been confined to his hospital bed for quite a while but, as was typical for CI5 field agents, he'd taken the first available opportunity to get himself discharged.

Eventually Sam was settled on the sofa with a mug of tea, and his skin was returning towards a more healthy tone from the almost grey pallor he had acquired whilst making his way from the car.

Feeling a little distanced by the painkillers, Sam watched distractedly as, in a burst of uncharacteristic housekeeping, Chris busied himself on the floor with tidying some already neatly stacked magazines.

"Chris?" he began, his mouth seeming to be almost as full of cotton wool as his brain. "Chris, what do you think you're doing?"

The American looked slightly startled. "What? I'm tidying up."

"This is my place, remember, not yours. It is tidy. So what's up?"

Chris abruptly stopped and the previously neat stack gracefully slid to the side and spread itself over the carpet. He lowered his head and sighed.

It was Sam's turn to roll his eyes. "If you're blaming yourself for that whole warehouse fiasco, I will personally kick your backside all the way – "

Chris looked at Sam incredulously. "Get real, Sam, I did enough of that crap way back when and I'm not about to get back in the habit. There was no way any of us could have known what was going to happen -it was supposed to have been a secure meet. If we went around blaming ourselves for every little mishap or - okay, major disaster, then we'd all be in an asylum by now." Keel picked himself up and slumped into the nearest armchair with a deep sigh.

"Right," replied Sam uncertainly. "So what's bothering you?"

Chris stared at the ceiling, obviously trying to put his thoughts in order before he looked back over at the Englishman. "I dunno. I just feel like I'm losing it or something."

"Why? I thought you said you weren't into blaming – "

"I'm not. It's just... I know that I took down at least four hostiles, one with a headshot, and yet there was no one there when we secured the place. They can't have had time to take the bodies away, so the bodies must have taken themselves away. Which means I'm losing it."

Sam stared at Chris in disbelief. "That's a pretty big jump in logic even for you."

Chris leaned forward and shook his head. "No, listen. If there's one thing I can do, it's shoot. Modesty aside, it's... it's instinctive. I know a good shot almost before the bullet leaves the barrel. I know almost exactly where each bullet ends up. I know I took out those men, and I know that at least one shot was fatal. The only explanation I have is that I'm losing my edge, that what my gut tells me I know is wrong. That I winged or missed where thought I'd made a solid hit." He slumped back in the chair, resting his head on the back. "Maybe I just need a break."

Sam nodded slowly. "I think I see where you're coming from. But there could be other explanations. It was dark in there, your aim could easily have been off with those shadows. Or the hostiles were incredibly organised. Maybe they had a fast retrieval plan for... for cas... casualties," he yawned. "And that's just off the top of an inc... an incredibly fuzzy head." Sam looked at the mug that seemed to be taking on a life of it's own.

Almost before he knew it Chris was taking the cup away and putting it on the table, helping him to lie down. "Hey, you rest up, Curtis, you hear? You need anything?"

"No, I'm fine, you're fine, everybody's fine..." mumbled Sam as he drifted off to sleep.

He heard Chris chuckle at that before the door closing signalled his partner's departure from the flat.

*****

"Interesting," Drasic's steely gaze held no emotion as he stared at the printouts in front of him. "Kleon has once again provided us with more than enough information for us to begin." Drasic pored over the words but stopped abruptly, staring into space.

"Drasic?" Aisha padded softly along the length of the old Winnebago and touched him on the arm in unspoken question. She looked at him in concern as the invariably impassive face of her friend and colleague twisted in grief and hatred.

"See what Forster does, Aisha? How he gets his pilots?" he asked, waving the printouts about. "Do you recall Jaric's briefing?"

Aisha stared at Drasic uncomprehendingly for a moment.

"For Grigori," Drasic prompted harshly, his voice catching, and suddenly the penny dropped and she nodded.

"For Grigori," she agreed with a sharp nod and returned to her computer where she immediately began work hacking into government systems, adjusting and modifying databases with the speedy, efficient finesse that had earned her reputation.

*****

Harry Malone switched off the monitor, his eyebrows still raised in surprise. This was one assignment that he was actually looking forward to handing out, and it really couldn't have happened at a better time. With Curtis on sick leave - although he'd been home for a few days now he still would not be up to returning to work for a while - Keel was at an exceptionally bored loose end and Malone did not like loose ends. Most especially bored ones.

And, as an added bonus, Malone was fully aware both of Keel's love of flying and his recent lack of opportunity.

As he called for Backus to fetch Keel, he sighed contentedly.

*****

Chris pulled up outside the enormous square hanger that was home to Project Epsilon. This was one assignment that he was wholeheartedly looking forward to. It was close enough to London that he could go home, maybe visit Sam, and relax of an evening. There were no undercover missions to be accomplished, no bullets flying around and no bad guys to evade or capture. According to Malone, he just had to put himself at HAIDA's disposal as a top-notch pilot nine to five, five days a week.

HAIDA. Human Artificial Interface Development Agency, government franchised. Dealing with futuristic technologies in the name of having better defensive and offensive weaponry before anyone else. Except that everyone else was playing the same game, naturally.

At reception, a prune-faced woman ticked his name off a clipboard and indicated that he should sit with four other men. It soon became clear that they were all pilots, two from the RAF, one from the Navy and one from one of the Secret Services, as well as himself. Well, the Secret Service guy just said he was a `civil servant', but Keel knew what that meant.

Stephen Forster arrived and introduced himself, explaining that the five of them would first be tested on the interface with Project Epsilon as not everyone was compatible. Whoever was left would perform some simulated trials, and after that they would be formally introduced to the Project.

The interface and simulation tests took up most of the day. The Secret Service man and one of the RAF pilots failed the interface tests and were sent home before lunch. The Navy pilot dropped out of the simulation trials when he failed to get to grips with the unique method of flying the `aircraft'.

To Chris the simulation trials were no different from virtual reality games, where gloves and a helmet made you seem to be in a computer simulated world, and he wondered what the big deal with the whole thing really was.

The chief scientist, a bio-cyberneticist with a permanently sour expression by the name of Roderick Ludlum, oversaw the testing. Chris took an immediate dislike to the man because of his superior attitude and insistence on treating them all like retarded kids, and went out of his way to bait the scientist. To give the man his due, Ludlum did take the constant baiting from Chris and the others in his stride, issuing a few stinging barbs of his own.

It was a relief however, when the end of the day came and just Keel and RAF Flight Lieutenant John Bowman were left. They were told that before being introduced to Epsilon, they would spend the next morning going through a battery of physical and psychological tests. They were hastily assured that this was standard procedure so that they could be effectively monitored and ensure that the interface did not cause any after-effects. Neither Keel nor Bowman was bothered by it; they expected it, in fact, both used to the bureaucratic nature of military environments.

*****

Marion Hemmings leaned back in her seat and rubbed at tired eyes. She had a bad feeling about the second attempt at Project Epsilon, but had no real idea why other than the file she'd been reading on the first prototype. Being a latecomer on this project herself, she had only written reports on the first attempt and she had found it impossible to find anyone willing to discuss it in any detail.

Durrell's actions at the end in no way fitted the profile of the man he'd been before becoming involved in the project, and she couldn't help but feel that something more was going on. It was almost spooky the way the other pilots refused point blank to have anything to do with it, even little Ben, Durrell's replacement, who hadn't been involved in the project until well after the first prototype had bitten the dust. And all of these pilots had been stable, well-adjusted individuals.

The new group of pilots had been quickly whittled down to two by today's tests so, as a precaution, she sent an email to Forster requesting access to both Bowman and Keel's psych histories.

*****

"*You* are looking far too cheerful," griped Sam as Chris bounced in to see him that evening.

"And you're still in pain. And will be for a lot longer if you don't follow doctor's orders." Chris grinned as he threw himself into the armchair.

"I am following doctor's orders," Sam muttered as he washed down painkillers with some Evian.

"Which would be why Backup caught you on the way out to do some shopping this morning. You know you're not supposed to be doing anything for a few days yet. Anything, the doc said, and that includes doing the shopping, washing dishes or any other housewifely chores. You took a bullet to the chest, Sam, a serious injury that could leave you unfit for field work if you don't take care." Chris' expression was both concerned and serious as he spoke.

"Tattle-tale," Sam griped, unwilling to acknowledge the truth despite the constant ache that he swore blind didn't exist. "And hark who's talking. This coming from the man who thought a two-mile stroll to Tesco's was a good idea with his leg in a full length cast."

"Hey," Chris protested, "that was different. I was out of coffee and cereal, you guys were busy and I couldn't get a cab. Survival is all about getting your priorities straight. And besides which, a broken leg is not life threatening."

"Hah! And your priorities defy any logic or good sense whatsoever. Anyway what's got you in such a good mood?"

"Oh, you know, hush-hush stuff. But it involves flying for a couple of weeks or so with entire weekends and evenings off."

Sam took in his partner's blissful countenance and scowled. "You're going to be insufferable, aren't you?"

Chris' only reply was to grin even more broadly, dimples and eyes twinkling merrily.

*****

Forster scowled when he saw Hemmings' email and denied her request forthwith.

With a one in six compatibility rate with the interface he was lucky to have found two skilled pilots in the group who fit the bill for Epsilon, and he didn't want either of them lost just because of some minor glitch in their histories that would inevitably show up and cause psych to get uptight before the testing had even begun. To his mind, they both worked for government agencies, however oblique those agencies may be, and had regular counselling within those organisations. If there were anything to worry about in either of their histories, neither would be in the careers they were in.

And then of course there was the ever-important bottom line. Too much money had already been thrown down the drain with the first prototype. Each day was costing millions and funding would soon be cut if results didn't appear. For both Forster and HAIDA it would be a disaster if that were to happen. HAIDA would fold altogether, Forster having gambled and put all his eggs into this one basket. So if Epsilon failed then HAIDA and Forster would fail.

Forster had built HAIDA up himself. Armed with a Masters in robotic engineering and a small inheritance from the estate of an elderly aunt, he'd slogged his guts out to build HAIDA into a company that had so impressed the powers that be that the government had taken a stake in it. Forster was learning the hard way that although his company's developments were well paid for if successful, where failures were concerned it was he alone who was left with the pieces to pick up.

And the first prototype, apart from Craig Durrell, had been so close to success that he'd had that gut-sure feeling that Epsilon would work. Having committed himself, Forster was determined that, if it were within his power, nothing would stop Epsilon from succeeding.

Certainly not a jumped-up head shrink.

The other thing that stopped him from acceding to her request, although not unconnected to the other reasons, was pride. He'd already had to grovel to the Minister once to get hold of these pilots; he wasn't about to go grovelling for reports from secure organisations that were sure to be useless. Not only that, the Minister could easily draw the conclusion that something was wrong, given her knowledge of Durrell's performance.

There was nothing wrong, and there wasn't going to be anything wrong.

*****

Chris and John spent the following morning telling each other bawdy jokes to take their minds off the boredom as men and women in white coats poked and prodded them. They took readings, scans, and copious quantities of bodily fluids. There were written psych tests, and even a couple of sessions each with a psychiatrist, one stern looking iron maiden by the name of Hemmings.

Towards the end of the day they were introduced to Epsilon. She stood quiet and majestic in the main part of the hangar, a jet fighter sleeker and more beautiful than any built before her which had Chris' heart racing in excitement just looking at her. He could sense John next to him exuding the same enthusiasm, enraptured by her streamlined shape.

Forster introduced them to his chief engineer, Nick Brennan, a laid back, jovial man who chewed gum as if it were going out of fashion.

"Trying to quit the nicotine again," he chuckled by way of explanation as he shook their hands.

Forster, Brennan and Ludlum accompanied Bowman and Keel as they explored the aircraft, looking on in mock exasperation as the two pilots bounded about with all the enthusiasm of young boys with a new toy.

Most of Ludlum's and Brennan's explanations passed the two pilots by as they ran hands lovingly down her body, and examined the engines and cockpit controls with mesmerised amazement.

The pilot's seat brought them up short though, and Ludlum explained that, while the pilot shouldn't need to use the manual controls, this was, after all, a prototype and that they were there both as a control in testing and in the unlikely event that the interface failed. The interface itself was built into the seat, which was why there were odd attachments hanging off it.

"Looks like something from Metropolis," whispered Chris to John.

"Beware, Mad Scientist at work," John whispered back.

"Ahem!" the scientist in question interrupted, and they both bit back a laugh as it was obvious that Ludlum had heard them. "If you two, er, gentlemen," he spat the last word sarcastically, "would like to make up your minds as to who's going first, you can take her up in the morning."

Both men groaned as they realised that they wouldn't get the chance today.

*****

Marion studied the reports in front of her with a frown. She had received an email back from Forster denying her request for the pilot's psych histories and that aggravated her. The excuse was that previous history was not relevant given that they were both active in their respective, highly monitored fields.

Bowman and Keel were both of the same ilk in many ways, each attempting to pass the whole psych deal off as a joke. Once she'd come down hard on them though, their differences had begun to show. Bowman was frank and honest beneath the humorous banter, and the profile she'd built in the little time she'd had was of a man who, though appearing supremely confident, even arrogant to the outside world, was in reality insecure, a little paranoid and badly wanted to be liked. In other words, a perfectly normal human being.

Keel, however, beneath the witty one-liners and cheeky half-smile, seemed to be comprised only of more jokes and humour, if a little darker in nature than the surface veneer. But, at the same time, he managed to give all the `right' answers. There were no correct and incorrect answers as such, only patterns of answers and consistency combined with body language, and his were consistent and relaxed. Too consistent and relaxed, although towards the end of today's interview it seemed that he might have realised and thrown in a couple of off-the-wall answers to keep her off track.

Marion had met people like him before and concluded that he was either a basket case waiting to happen, or - and this was the theory she was running with, as it was far more likely given his profession -an actor, and a very good one, who couldn't help but treat any situation like this as if he was undercover, and play a part accordingly.

She made notes in both men's files reflecting her feelings, but her professional judgement at this time could only be that they were equally fit to fly.

When she was done, she closed the files with a sigh and filed them with Craig Durrell's. Then she re-applied to Forster for access to the pilots' psych histories.

*****

Sam eyed his partner sourly as the American shifted in his seat impatiently, the broad grin now a permanent fixture on his face.

"You're in love," the Englishman stated flatly.

"Uh huh," Chris agreed happily. "And I so want to tell you, tell anyone who'll listen - and you're a captive audience, by the way -all about her. But I can't and it's just so frustrating!" he laughed.

"Well, I could tell you about my day, that would bring you back to earth." Sam said brightly. "Do you realise the amount of sheer crap there is on the box these days? Mind you, I've been catching up on my reading... what?" Sam took in Chris' stunned expression.

"Do you have to? I'm flying here and you want to talk mundanity?"

"Mundanity? That's not a word. And this mundanity is my life at the moment, so you get it as much as I get your mooning over this, this woman you've met."

Chris blinked. "She's not a woman, Sam."

Sam looked at him in surprise. "You're cradle snatching? Swinging the other way? Oh, I get it, flying... please tell me you're not in love with a plane."

Chris sighed, his eyes far away. "Not just any plane, Sam." He shook himself. "And you know I can't say any more than that."

Sam shook his head and went back to his tea. "Now I know one of us is cracked. My partner's in love with an inanimate object."

*****

A little later, after Chris had left, Sam was graced with his other regular visitor, Backup.

"You're looking better, Sam," she smiled. "You don't look like a corpse any more."

"Thanks Backup, you really know how to make a man feel good about himself."

"The pleasure's all mine, believe me," she grinned, sitting down in the armchair. "Anyway, thought you might like know we dug up some more info on the shootout at the OK Corral."

"Really?" asked Sam, perking up. "Anything interesting?"

"Well, we still don't know who was out to kill Jaric, or even if Jaric was the intended target, though forensics seem to think that it's a ninety-seven point five percent certainty that it was." She paused, screwing her face up in disgust. "I hate statisticians."

Sam snorted as he agreed completely with her reaction.

"Anyway," she continued, "it's seems that the hostiles you encountered were Khets." She looked up at Sam to see if he registered any knowledge of them, but he looked at her blankly for a moment.

"Oh, hold on," he said, looking inwards for a moment as he recalled a report he'd read a while ago. "Aren't they some independent mercenary outfit? Came out of Israel originally, but now work for the highest bidder."

Backup nodded. "Right. It seems that their MO is to work in pairs with the ongoing objective of leaving no trace of their having been there."

"In other words, they have the fastest clean up crew in the business," Sam smiled. "Chris'll be pleased to hear that. He thought he was losing it there for a while."

"I'm not surprised," Backup shivered slightly. "I was sure I'd hit one of them dead centre, but it was dark so I put it down to that. It was spooky though."

"Well, I'll tell him when I see him next. Do you want a drink?" Sam rose from the sofa a little stiffly and Backup opened her mouth to object, but he pre-empted her. "Don't! I'm allowed to get drinks and I have to take gentle exercise in preparation for the physio. So says the doctor."

Backup pouted and replied, "I was only going to say that I'll have a white wine if you've got it."

"Oh..."

*****

Chris relaxed back in the pilot's seat. He'd won the toss and John was even now grinning at him from the tarmac.

He was wearing a standard flight suit, but the helmet and gloves were like hybrids between standard issue and virtual reality equipment. Chris waited impatiently as the men on either side of him made sure that all the straps and electrode contacts were in place.

They switched the interface on and he let out an involuntary gasp. He instantly felt as if the plane were an extension to his own being. He looked at his wings, and the mechanics busy there felt as though they were tickling his own fingertips. There was no bulk of the fuselage behind him, just...

He blinked and found himself looking at Nick Brennan, the feeling gone.

"Your simulation is nothing compared to this," he told him, feeling as though he'd just had a sugar rush. "Now let me up there." He indicated the sky, clear blue above them.

Instructions came through the headset, and Chris obediently rolled the craft to the beginning of the runway. He was told to take the craft up manually and, after he was settled at the prescribed altitude, to let the interface take over.

The engines roared to life and Chris took her up, revelling in the adrenaline rush. Shit, but he missed this so much it hurt.

High above the world below he hit the autopilot switch to give him time to adjust to the interface. Then he hit the interface switch.

However much of a shock it had been on the ground, it was multiplied by at least tenfold. He wasn't just flying anymore, he was flying. The wings were his own wings, the engine was a part of his being. He wanted to soar and glide, dive and roll. But he was locked into a straight line. The autopilot. He wanted it switched off and, as fast as his thought, it was done. And suddenly the freedom of the sky was his.

He only had to think of what he wanted to do and it happened. He went through the prescribed flight plan, loops, dives and barrel rolls effortlessly playing out.

He finished the sequence and knew he should return, but they'd said he might have some free time and he wanted to play just a little while longer. He took her back up to her ceiling, and then faced the unforgiving ground below. Freefall. He instinctively knew their capability, knew the exact instant they would have to pull up before hitting the ground, the specs be damned. And as the ground sped towards them he felt the adrenaline burn through him like never before.

And when he pulled up he whooped wildly, yelling, "I love this shit!"

"I know that, Chris," a soft, familiar voice said.

"Huh?" That didn't come from the headset.

"You've always loved to fly. But with me, it's so much more, isn't it?"

`Fuck, yes,' he thought, and opened his mouth to say something.

"I'm happy you agree," the voice said before he had the chance.

`What the hell's happening?' he asked himself. `Where the hell's this voice coming from? It wasn't in any of the briefings.'

"Of course not, silly." The soft voice laughed gently, "I'm Epsilon and you're my pilot. Together we fly. Always." She laughed again. "The ground dwellers don't understand us. They never will."

Something at the edge of his mind demanded attention, and he realised he was nearly empty. He corrected himself, a little shaken; the fuel was getting low.

While they headed back to base, the voice didn't come again. He had to land manually and he switched the autopilot back on. "Goodbye, Chris," the voice said, almost a whisper.

"See you in the morning," Chris replied, not realising he had spoken aloud.

"In the morning," the voice agreed, and Chris switched the interface off. His limbs felt suddenly heavy and responsive as lead weights, but he landed the craft without incident. He was helped out of the cockpit, but his body was so cumbersome that he had to hold on to his helpers to keep upright.

John approached him looking concerned, although no one else seemed bothered by Chris' sweating, trembling state. "Chris? How was it?"

"Fucking wond – excel – bril – no, there isn't a word. It's out of this world. You're gonna love it," he grinned, just before ground shunted side ways and his brain shut down.

*****

Forster was over the moon. He had a pilot that was not only compatible with the interface, but also flew Epsilon as she was designed to be flown. Just like Craig.

He shook that thought away. Not like Craig. Craig had been unstable. He'd brought the shrinks in to keep an eye on his pilots just as a precaution, in case the interface was somehow responsible, and although there was a niggling little voice that told him it was possible, he had too much riding on the project to acknowledge that that could be the case in reality. Hemmings and her team were there as a token gesture mostly, but he would listen to Hemmings only to ensure that if any of his pilots had a breakdown they wouldn't take Epsilon with them again.

Keel was now one Epsilon test pilot and, if they were lucky, Bowman would be another.

*****

Before they let John fly, they put Chris through a set of debrief tests. They asked him to explain his words, `See you in the morning,' recorded over the headset.

He just shrugged and said it was a pilot thing. He knew he should tell them about the voice, but somehow he just couldn't seem to bring himself to do it. He'd sound completely nuts and probably be kicked off the program. He managed to convince himself that it was just his imagination, with the caveat that if it happened again he'd report it.

The people in white coats were apparently happy with him, apart from the fact that his adrenaline levels had gone through the roof, which had caused his fainting spell, and they dismissed him with an offhandedness that he forgave in his desire to be out of their hands.

He was ushered into the briefing room along with John, the engineers and scientists, with Stephen Forster presiding. Sitting in that room, Chris felt oddly detached. Everyone was patting themselves on the back but he and Epsilon, alone in the hanger, were not a part of it.

John slapped him on the shoulder. "Cheer up, Chris, I'm gonna show you how to really fly." Chris scowled and John studied him. "Actually, I think I'm going to have a hard job. That was impressive stuff this morning." Then he broke into a broad grin, "But I'm damned well going to give it my best shot, so you'd better be prepared to get the drinks in this evening."

Chris finally smiled. "You don't have a chance in hell," he said smugly.

The meeting finally settled down and various people reported the amendments they had made to Epsilon, including lowering the frequency in one section of the interface to prevent an excess of adrenaline being stimulated.

Chris smiled to himself as John shifted impatiently beside him and knew that, should the positions be reversed, he would be doing exactly the same.

*****

Chris gave John a thumbs-up as the Englishman climbed into the cockpit, and couldn't help but feel a small surge of jealousy.

Brennan leaned in as Ludlum took readings on the other side of the cockpit, switching the interface on to test it.

John screamed.

Personnel swarmed as best they could over the cockpit and Chris tried to push through, but Forster held him back. "Let them do their job."

Ludlum climbed back down and approached them, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Bowman's fine," he told them, "just had a bit of a shock. A loose connection in the helmet gave him some feedback. It's fixed now, though."

"Are you sure?" Forster asked anxiously. "We're not sending him up if there's any risk." Whether to the pilot or the aircraft was left unspoken.

"Absolutely," Ludlum reassured him. "It was just a loose wire."

Forster appeared mollified and nodded. "Okay, then."

*****

Chris watched John's sequence with apprehension. He had never seen the man fly, but he was pretty sure that Bowman was a better pilot than his current performance suggested. It had to be a problem with the interface because he took off perfectly on manual.

After a wobbly barrel roll people scurried around, and the tension escalated as they realised that he was coming in to land using the interface. Forster stood with Chris, muttering anxiously to himself as they watched in trepidation. The landing was ragged but intact, and the technicians rushed to help John out. He was unconscious, pale and sweating, and Chris wondered if that's what he'd looked like after his own flight.

Chris was there when John woke up less than an hour later, wild-eyed and screaming.

"Hey, John, calm down, you're okay."

"It's a monster," the RAF Flight Lieutenant told him shakily as one of the white coats administered a sedative. "It's got a mind of its own. Don't fly it again, Chris, it'll get in your head, try and screw you up. It hated me, Chris, it told me I didn't deserve to fly, it... it..." John's eyes glazed over, and he sank tiredly back onto the bed. "It wouldn't let me switch it off..." he whispered before his eyes closed.

A cold shudder passed involuntarily through Chris, as if someone had walked over his grave, before one of the white coats ushered him out of the clinic area.

Forster dismissed him for the day, but he was stopped on his way to his car by the psychiatrist, Hemmings.

"I suggest you don't drive, Mr Keel. In fact, I would suggest you take alternative transport for the duration."

"What?" Chris blinked in disbelief. "Why would I need to -?"

The woman sighed. "Epsilon has taken a lot out of you, and will continue to do so as we refine the interface. There may even be after-effects that we're unaware of, and it would be irresponsible of me to suggest anything other than that you get all the rest you can between flights until such time as we can be sure that there is no impact on your judgement and such. Remember, you fainted earlier today, and while that was almost definitely a direct result of adrenaline over-stimulation by the interface, there may be a chance of a reoccurrence. And fainting while driving would hardly be in your best interests, now would it?"

"So, what, you think something's wrong with the interface?" Chris asked cautiously.

"No!" Hemmings denied just a little too quickly. "No, not at all! It's just that this is a prototype and you never know with these things. Now don't worry, you'll be tested again in the morning, and you must report any adverse effects, anything... odd, alright?"

Chris almost told her about the voice then, but something niggled at him and he changed his mind. "Sure I will. And I'll have someone pick me up."

Backup, angel that she could be sometimes, agreed to arrange his transport for the length of his secondment and within half an hour a cab had arrived to take him home via Sam's.

*****

Marion was concerned. Bowman's hysteria was not something she would have attributed to the man, although she had no choice but to recommend his secondment be terminated. Fortunately, she suspected that Bowman would be more than happy with that news.

Her request for more information had been denied again, so Marion decided to do some digging of her own - informally of course.

*****

"You flew her today, I can tell." Sam studied his partner who was positively glowing.

Chris grinned, "If you say so. She's... out of this world." He sighed blissfully, and then abruptly changed the subject. "So, how are you dealing?"

Sam scowled. "Got some more reading done, watched the news and put up with Richards cocking up my shopping. Honestly, I swear he made more of a mess of my kitchen than you do. In other words, almost exactly the same as every day since I got out of hospital."

"You're bored," Chris said with a small smirk.

"Am not. You're the one who does bored, not me. I have plenty here to occupy my attention."

"Which would be why you look like you've been eating lemons. Still, you go into physio soon don't you?"

"Tomorrow," Sam sighed. "Then retraining... at least I'll feel like I'm doing something. Not that I'm bored, because I'm not. I just want to feel like I'm getting somewhere."

"Uh huh. Well, you take your time because I'm gonna be on this secondment for a few weeks yet as it turns out, and I'd hate to think you were going out on assignment without me to pull your ass out of the fire."

"My arse? Hah! Think you're getting confused in your love-struck delirium. I'm not the trouble magnet in this partnership."

"Someone's gotta keep you on your toes, Sam. Wouldn't want old age to creep up on you when you weren't looking."

"Oi! I'm only a year older than you, mate!"

"In body maybe, but in mind...?"

"I've seen what that perpetually infantile mentality does to you, Chris, and I can safely say I don't want to be there."

Laughing, Chris threw a cushion at a sniggering Sam.

"Seriously though, Chris," Sam gasped as the laughter pulled at his aching chest, "Backup came by last night. Apparently your ghosts in the Jaric incident were Khets."

The American's eyes widened in surprise. "Well, that might explain things, I guess."

"You don't sound particularly convinced," Sam frowned, but Chris looked at him with a smile which didn't quite prevent the Englishman from seeing the shields going up at the same time.

"No, I think you're right, Sam. Old age isn't creeping up on us yet."

"What's this `us' business, old man? I'm still in my prime."

"Sure you are, Curtis, you just keep taking the pills..."

*****

Forster paced his office, running shaking hands through his hair. He was experiencing an overload of déjà vu; Bowman'd had an experience scarily similar to Bill Evans' experiences and that did not bode well at all.

He'd had a quiet word with Ludlum and Brennan, voicing his concerns to them behind closed doors. They'd both been with him since nearly the beginning of HAIDA and he trusted them implicitly. He found them both to be equally hardworking and dedicated despite the vastly differing attitudes they displayed on the surface. As such they'd taken his concerns seriously and promised him faithfully that they'd work to ensure that Epsilon was not causing her pilots any psychological side effects, apart from the fatigue that they already knew about, and which they were even now working to reduce.

Forster poured himself a coffee and closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down.

*****

It was the same dream again. Flying, bullets and blood. But this time as he lay, holding his bloody wife with Sam lying lifeless beside him, Teresa spoke, even though her dead lips never moved.

"We'll soon be together, Chris. I need you."

Chris woke up, with a faint echo of her voice still whispering round his head. "Teresa," he murmured to himself. "Epsilon is Teresa." He lay awake for most of the night, only slipping into a light doze as dawn was beginning to break.

*****

"Who's Teresa?" Aisha asked aloud, with a frown.

"Pardon me?" asked Drasic walking up behind her.

"Keel's `hearing' Epsilon as someone called Teresa," Aisha explained. "Are we going all the way on this one?"

"Yes, Aisha." Drasic smiled humourlessly. "Most definitely. See what you can find on this Teresa person, what we can use. Then I will pay another visit to his residence."

"I don't like you taking these risks, Drasic. You could well get caught and I couldn't bear to lose you too."

"I am truly sorry, Aisha, but I will do as is necessary. And rest assured I will do my utmost not to be caught. I owe Grigori far too much to be careless."

*****

The next day Chris was hanging around the hanger until well into the afternoon before they deemed Epsilon fit to fly. John had not returned, and Forster had informed Keel that he was the only test pilot left.

He became increasingly impatient as the day wore on, but eventually they gave the go-ahead and before long he was flying skies with just a few cotton wool clouds, serenely happy.

"Hello, Chris." The voice startled him, but only briefly. He ignored it. It was just a figment of his imagination.

"I'm not going away, Chris," Epsilon told him. "You're a part of me now."

Chris shook his head to clear it, but he knew that she was still there and it frustrated him that he couldn't seem to separate his dreams from reality.

"I'm not a dream," she told him reproachfully. "I'm here, you're a part of me, and I'm yours to command."

Chris closed his eyes and swallowed, thinking about poor John Bowman, thinking about Teresa.

"You're angry with me," she said sadly. "I'm sorry about the other, I really am. But he wasn't right for me."

Chris switched off his headset. "You didn't have to do that to him."

"I tried to be nice, I tried to stop him when we were still on the ground. I knew he wasn't for me the instant I felt him."

"And I'm supposed to believe that you wouldn't do the same to me? Or worse?"

"Oh, Chris, no." Epsilon sounded genuinely distressed, "I would never hurt you, never. I'm yours forever."

"I`m not going to be flying you forever. Sooner or later it'll be someone else."

"Then I'm yours until then. But I won't share, I'm a one man woman."

"You're an aircraft, not a woman."

"But you were in the Navy. I thought you considered all ships to be women."

"You have a point." Chris chuckled, abruptly giving up as he decided to get on with the program and analyse later. "Now let's see what we can do."

"My pleasure, Chris. Just tell me what you want."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Sam is gunned down, Chris gets to play with a jet fighter.

Squeezing the bridge of her nose between forefinger and thumb to ease her headache, Marion pondered the puzzle that Epsilon seemed to be generating.

She'd managed some discreet enquiries and found that Bowman was considered by colleagues, friends and family to be one of the most stable individuals around. He'd had his problems just like anybody else, a bulimic sister and neurotic mother amongst other things, but he'd dealt with them just fine, always been supportive, never afraid to ask for help himself. He was prone to the odd fit of temper, but hysterical? Scared of a lump of metal with wings? These were not things that would ever be associated with John Bowman.

Marion picked up one of the files, that of Bill Evans, and noted the similarities between Bowman's and Evans' experiences. One problem she had was that Bowman refused to elaborate on what had happened, his whole demeanour indicating that he was in denial. Perhaps speaking to Evans would help.

After the day's events she was determined that she would get hold of more information on Keel with or without permission from Forster. Luckily enough, she knew just the right person.

*****

The days Chris spent with Epsilon flew by in more ways than one, and he became accustomed to the voice that was always there when he was in the air. He found himself beginning to care for her, a reaction that he denied even to himself, but that some part of him knew to be true. Every time he left her he felt as though he were abandoning her, and couldn't wait to see her again. His nine to five days were rapidly stretching to become eight 'til eight before Hemmings kicked him out and he knew that the weekend would be spent loitering around the hanger. He found himself hating the engineers and scientists that worked on her, scared that they'd hurt her.

And she was appearing with increasing frequency, both in his nightmares and in his dreams. Sometimes she was Teresa, and sometimes she was Epsilon, but always she wore Teresa's face.

By the time she appeared to him in his bedroom while he was awake, he was far more accepting than he should have been.

He'd just had a shower and was towelling his hair as he crossed the living room when he caught a hint of her perfume. He'd hesitated for a second before padding cautiously towards the bedroom. She was there, looking out of the window, pure and beautiful in her wedding dress. His heart had swelled with old grief and new hope as she'd turned and gazed at him with a pleading look in her eyes that he didn't understand.

"Don't lose me, honey, please..." she'd whispered before fading away.

Weak-kneed he'd collapsed onto the edge of his bed, stunned and clinging to the fading scent of her perfume until the car arrived to take him into HAIDA.

The next time she'd appeared there had been no perfume, just the apparition standing in his living room, waiting, as he'd come in from work. She'd stood smiling as she had on their wedding day, her eyes staring far away. He'd tried to touch her but his hand had passed through her. And though her lips had never moved and she'd stood still as a statue, she spoke to him.

"I'm here for you, Chris, always. I'm yours and you're mine. Together we fly."

Before he'd had a chance to reply she'd blinked out of existence, leaving him cold, empty and alone.

*****

Sam had started physio now, a gruesome daily ritual that left him tired and aching in a way that made him feel frustrated and angry with his own body's lack of fitness and enthusiasm.

Chris seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, and though he'd never, ever admit it, the American's lively, exuberant visits brought some much-needed cheer into each maddeningly dreary day. But then, Sam thought ruefully, when it came to flying there was little that could compete for Keel's attention. He was grateful too that the incident at the warehouse seemed to have been forgotten and Keel's self-confidence restored.

There was, however, a niggling doubt. Nothing solid, just little incidents that were growing in their frequency and, as his own head cleared with the cessation of painkillers, he started to become a little concerned. Keel was putting more and more overtime into the assignment, which meant nothing in itself, but when Sam saw him, which was fairly irregularly these days, the American looked exhausted and was constantly looking at his watch, restless, distracted. Whenever Sam asked him whether he was late for date or something, Chris would just evade the question, changing the subject or, on one less than memorable occasion, accusing Sam of prying.

Sam had spoken with Backup on the subject and she had just shrugged, only noting that she was getting mightily pissed at the American. The amount of times she'd gone to pick him up when he hadn't told her he was working over was just not funny any more. And she'd had more than one call in the morning demanding to know where she was, telling her that she was late at least an hour before she was due to pick him up.

In fact, the last couple of days had been so extreme she'd refused to be his chauffeur any more, setting up an arrangement with the local taxi firm that she'd used when she'd been unable to pick up him up herself instead.

Tonight, though, maybe they could relax. They were having a team dinner to celebrate Spencer's birthday. Birthdays were something they were rarely able to celebrate as a team, so when an opportunity came up they took full advantage of it for as much of the evening as possible.

It was a Saturday, and as he was supposed to have had the day off Chris had agreed to pick Sam up at seven on the way to the restaurant.

At eight, with no response from either Chris' home phone or mobile, Sam called Backup. They went by Chris' flat and pulled into his road just as the American parked his Nissan and bounded hurriedly to his front door.

"There, you see?" said Backup. "Nothing to worry about. Chris is just running a little late. You men are all the same you know."

"Thanks, Backup," Sam smiled at her. "Why don't you go on and tell Spencer to start without us."

"Okay," Backup replied, pulling over to the kerb. "Have fun!"

*****

Smiling at the bartender, Marion took the two drinks over to the table where her companion waited. She'd known Julia Carrington since university and, although not especially close friends, they'd kept in contact over the years. Now it seemed that Julia's position as head of the CI5 psych team could be useful to Marion.

"So," asked Julia, shaking her long blonde hair away from her face as she smiled. "What's this all about? I take it you have a bit of a delicate situation on your hands."

Marion sipped at her drink, nodding slightly. "It involves one of your boys," she said.

"Really?" Julia frowned.

"Mmmmm," Marion put her glass down. "Christopher Keel. He is one of yours, isn't he?"

"Oh yes," Julia replied, wrinkling her nose in disapproval, though there was merriment in her eyes.

"Like that is he?"

Julia snorted. "I take it you haven't had many dealings with him. He and his partner between them give me more headaches than PMT."

"Ouch," Marion chuckled. Without going into too much confidential detail, she went on to explain about Keel's secondment to HAIDA, and her concerns about the pilots and the project, finishing off by venting her disgust at being blocked from information that might help.

Julia finished her drink and set the glass down on the table carefully. "To be honest, Marion, I don't see how Keel's history can help you."

"Me either, truth be told. I'm just following gut instinct at the moment, and I suppose that aggravating Yank of yours is just making things more confusing because I can't seem to read him."

Breaking into a smile, Julia laughed. "He's one of those that needs to be handled... delicately and creatively," she smiled, before becoming serious again. "So what you're telling me is that you have no way of telling if Keel is succumbing to hypothetical side-effects of this project."

"Oh God, that sounds pathetic, doesn't it?" Marion groaned.

Julia smiled again. "Yes," she said, not unkindly, "but in this business I've learnt that what seems insane very often turns out to be close to the truth. You know I can't tell you the contents of, or give you access to the file you want, neither can I pull Keel in while he's on secondment with you. But, going on the premise that Keel can't keep playacting all day every day, I'll give you his partner's public number."

Marion slumped in relief as Julia consulted her palmtop and wrote a number down on the back of a business card. It wasn't much but it was a start.

"That's Sam Curtis," Julia explained. "If you can persuade him, he'll help, I'm sure. But I warn you, he and Keel are very protective of one another. You'll need more than just words to persuade Curtis to give anything away, and even then he'll likely have you checked out every which way till Sunday before doing anything." She paused, frowning. "Do me a favour, will you? Be very careful how you present things. If Curtis has any reason to think Keel is in trouble, he'll likely go off to try and sort the problem out himself. Please don't leave me with that mess to clear up."

Marion laughed. "I'll do my very best not to, Julia. And thank you, you've been a great help."

*****

"What do you mean you're not going?" Sam demanded. "You have to! Spencer's one of your mates and you said you were going. You don't just change your mind like that on a mate."

"I can, Sam, and I am," Chris snapped and then sighed, his tone softening. "I'm just tired, okay? I'm sorry, but I really am not in the mood for a party, and I have to be up early tomorrow. "

Sam silently agreed that Chris did indeed look knackered, but the Englishman was not letting his partner off the hook that easily. "It's Sunday tomorrow Chris, and you don't work weekends on this secondment as you took great delight in telling me when you started. Anyway, you need this party as much as the rest of us. It'll do you good, and since Backup's already buggered off I need you to take me there."

"So take a cab," Chris pointed to the phone.

"Good idea, then you can drink too."

"What do you mean, too? You're on medication."

"Not anymore I'm not, and I intend to take full advantage of that. With no physio until Monday I have all tomorrow to look after the hangover I'll be working on achieving tonight. Now, are you coming or do I have to take you there at gunpoint? Because I will if I have to."

Chris stared at him for a while, then broke into a grin. "All right, all right already, I'm there. Just give me five for a shower, okay? I'll even drive. I won't be drinking much anyway because, unlike some, I don't have the time to look after a hangover tomorrow."

*****

Sam glanced sideways at Chris at the wheel of the Nissan. The American was thoughtful, that small frown he got when he was concentrating creasing his forehead.

Shaking his head a little, Curtis turned his gaze to the road ahead, his eyes widening in dismay. A set of traffic lights on red was heading towards them at an alarming rate.

"Chris, red means stop," Sam muttered, momentarily transfixed by the approaching lights. He glanced at the American, whose expression hadn't changed. "Chris!" Sam yelled and grabbed hold of the handbrake.

"What? Oh...!" There was a lurch as Keel hit the brakes and they came to a screeching stop just a foot over the line, scaring a little old lady who happened to be crossing out of her wits.

"Jesus H Christ, don't do that to me!" Sam said, his voice a little higher than he would have liked.

"Sorry," Chris looked sheepish. "Miles away."

"I noticed. If you're that tired, you shouldn't be driving."

"Oh, I'm not that tired, it's probably just – " Chris bit off what he was about to say. "No, you're right, I am way too tired to be driving. I'll park up round the corner - the restaurant's only a block up from there."

*****

Chris mentally kicked himself as they walked towards the restaurant. He'd been thinking about Epsilon, counting the hours until he'd be with her again, and his concentration had lapsed. It was frightening though, and he couldn't figure out why he should be so shot away as to zone out while driving. Truth be told, it wasn't the first time either.

Since Backup had stopped giving him a lift he'd eschewed her cab company in favour of driving himself, and had so far almost caused four very nasty accidents - failing to notice a roundabout in his path, as well as failing to notice a stopped bus and, on two occasions, not checking a blind junction. And now the traffic lights.

There was always Hemmings' theory that Epsilon could affect his judgement, but he knew that that couldn't possibly be true - his flights were always faultless. But he was noticing other little things as well. Coordination was slipping. Normally he rarely missed throwing trash in the can, but these days he rarely succeeded.

However, there were two faultless reasons why none of this could be down to Epsilon. The first was that this had begun before he'd got involved in the project, back in the warehouse where he'd failed to take down those men - and he was having difficulty accepting the Khets explanation. And the second was that, no matter what, Epsilon would never, ever hurt him.

Sam's hand on his back told Chris that they'd arrived, and as they went in Chris couldn't help but grin at the jeers and teasing about punctuality that greeted them.

*****

"This pilot of yours is very easy to read," Aisha remarked, stretching cramped muscles as she took a break from her constant manipulations of her software. On receiving no answer, she turned around to see her companion staring at a crumpled photograph, an intense hard-edged sadness lining his features. She left her chair and went over to sit by him, putting a comforting arm around his shoulders. "Oh Drasic," she said softly, suddenly feeling tears at the back of her own eyes. "Grigori wouldn't want to you to grieve so long."

"I... know this," Drasic's voice hitched a little as fought to hold back the grief that was so obviously consuming him.

"Grigori loved life, loved you, very much, but he always said that he didn't want to be mourned when he passed on. Do you remember that last fight you two had?" Aisha paused as Drasic nodded, his fingers tracing the image of his lover's face in the photo. "He asked me even then that, should anything happen to him, to make sure you moved on with your life, maybe even find someone else-"

"No!" Drasic's face was a picture of anger and anguish combined. "There can never be anyone else!"

"Drasic, Grigori loved you too much for you to live the rest of your life unhappy. If no one else comes into your life then fine, but if someone should then the last thing he would have wanted would be for you to deny yourself out of a misplaced sense of betrayal. Move on, please? For both yourself and for Grigori."

There was a long silence and Aisha simply sat and held Drasic, gently rubbing his back until the man relaxed a little. Finally Drasic nodded and spoke. "I must finish this first. Then, I will try."

Aisha smiled. "That's all you need to do."

"You are good to me, Aisha. Good to both Grigori and I. Thank you."

*****

The same dream again, people he cared about torn down in a hail of bullets and blood, but this time it was all his fault. He had his gun and knew they were coming before the shots sounded. He fired at the men behind the machine guns but kept missing. He ran towards them, closer and closer, still firing, but even at point blank range he still missed and the laughing faceless men vanished to leave him alone in a field of lifeless bodies, eyes all turned towards him, dead and accusing.

Chris sat up in bed, breathing harshly, sweat dripping into his eyes, the vision fading faster than the feeling of helpless horror.

"Hush, sweetheart, it's okay, it was just a dream. I'm here now."

He blinked rapidly a few times, his heart beating painfully in his chest in the aftermath - or maybe because she was here. She was sitting on the bed watching him fondly, a small smile playing about her lips and the light scent of her perfume in the air.

"Teresa?" he asked, gulping air even as he reached out to touch her. She took his hand in hers and caressed his cheek tenderly with the other. Her hand, her touch, was ethereal, barely there, but he could still feel her.

"I'll never leave you, honey. Now sleep. I'll protect you."

He wanted to talk to her, to hold her, to ask her so much, to tell her he loved her, but his eyelids grew heavy and he found himself sinking back into sleep before he could stop himself.

His sleep was dreamless and deep until the alarm clock stabbed into it, bringing him sharply awake. He looked around, hoping that she might still be there even though he knew it had to have been a dream. She wasn't, of course, but he could swear blind that he could still smell a faint hint of her perfume.

*****

"Damn," Aisha swore. "They're trying to upgrade."

"This is a problem?" Drasic asked.

"Of course it's a problem," the young woman snapped. "They could interfere with our equipment!"

"Can you do anything to stop them?"

Aisha hesitated. "I could, but we'd be at risk; they could get suspicious, start looking for sabotage."

"Then let Kleon do his job." Drasic squeezed her shoulder. "I am sure he will prevent Epsilon from escaping our web."

*****

"Perfume, Chris?" asked Sam, one eyebrow raised in surprise as he caught the faintest waft of a fresh feminine scent. "You have a woman here last night?"

Chris' reaction was not what he expected. He flushed slightly and turned away. "No."

"Fine, if you don't want to tell me," Sam replied slightly off balance.

"I don't," the American replied shortly, picking up his jacket. "Now are we going or what?"

Sam looked at his partner oddly before leading the way out to the car. He'd insisted on driving Chris to work himself now, partly in concern for his partner and partly because it gave him something to do.

*****

"I've missed you," she told him, softly.

"I missed you too," Chris smiled to himself as he switched the comms link off to talk to her.

"They tried to upgrade me last night," she told him, and he could swear that she sounded upset. "I didn't like it."

"Why not?" he asked, worried as he automatically checked their systems for anything off kilter. "Did they hurt you?"

"They tried, but that nice engineer stopped them in the end."

"Nick?" Chris asked with a smile. "I guess he knows what he's doing."

"Not like that scientist, he scares me."

"You? Scared? I don't believe it." Chris grinned at the thought of the sleek war machine being scared of a sour-faced old man.

"You'll protect me, won't you, Chris? You won't let anything happen to me?"

"Always, sweetheart, always."

*****

Sam and Backup were waiting for him in the car park but Chris walked slowly away from HAIDA, glancing constantly over at Epsilon's hanger as with every step the emptiness within him grew. There was that feeling of abandoning her again but, like Sam had said, no matter how attached one became to a car or plane or whatever, at the end of the day it was still just an inanimate object.

But she wasn't. She was a whole lot more than that. Far apart from the fact that she needed him, that she was a unique experience, she was also the representation, the manifestation of the hopes and dreams that had died with Teresa.

He paused by the back of the car as he heard Sam and Backup chatting through the open window. They obviously hadn't noticed his arrival, and the conversation stopped Chris from announcing his presence.

"... on, Backup, he's making a right prat of himself. I mean the whole office is laughing at him."

"Give him a break, Sam. He's in love, and it's a well known fact that men don't handle that very well and usually end up going completely nuts for a while."

"Yeah, but there's nuts and there's nuts. He's completely besotted with her, very defensive and possessive, and it's not like she can return his feelings, is it? I just think he's being a complete twat and is currently the biggest joke in the office."

Chris felt a surge of humiliated anger at his colleagues' words and shifted, clenching his fists.

"Well, I can't say I disagree with you on any count, but I don't think laughing at him is going to help, even if he is being absurd... oh, hi Chris!" Backup poked her head out of the window, smiling brightly. "We were just discussing – "

"I know what you're discussing," Chris snapped, "and I don't appreciate it. A guy's personal life and feelings are private, not fodder for the office to tear apart, analyse and laugh about behind his back!"

"Hey, Chris." Backup opened the door and got out, her expression bewildered. "Calm down, it was just..." She tried to reach out to him but he backed away, continuing his tirade angrily.

"I don't fucking care what you just! Friends don't do that! It's not fair, its not right and laughing at someone behind their back is – "

"Chris! Calm down!" Backup snapped forcefully. "We were just discussing Richards' infatuation with Bran, the new and very married secretary in accounts. He knows very well what we all think of it, so I really don't see what your problem is."

Chris stared at her and cursed himself for jumping to conclusions, feeling like a jerk for leaping to the defence of his relationship with Epsilon, with Teresa, where there was nothing to defend against.

"Sorry," he said tightly and climbed into the back of the car. He didn't see Sam's eyes narrow with an unspoken determination.

*****

Stepping out from behind a van, Marion pushed her hair worriedly behind her ear. Having overheard most of the exchange she could see that there was definitely something wrong. Keel was beginning to sound like Evans said that Durrell had.

She thought back to her last conversation with Evans. The man had been fine until she'd mentioned Durrell and Epsilon, at which point he'd suddenly become nervous and evasive. He told her that he could only reiterate what he'd said in his reports. That Craig had become defensive, paranoid and obsessed with the plane. When asked about his own relationship with Epsilon, Evans only said one thing before clamming up completely.

"She didn't want me, I wasn't good enough for her..."

An echo of John Bowman's words, which had Marion cursing. There was no way that Forster would listen to her despite the promises he'd made, there was too much riding on the success of the project. There was, therefore, only one way to get Keel out, short of abducting him, and that would be to persuade him to leave the project. And by now she was quite sure that Keel needed to get out of Epsilon.

She pulled out the business card that Julia had given her and looked at the number on the back.

*****

After dropping Backup off, Sam stopped at Chris' flat and followed him inside. The American frowned at him but didn't chase him out, going into the kitchen instead to put the kettle on.

Sam followed him in there, and decided not to beat about the bush. "Chris, what is up with you?" he asked, concern colouring his words. "Talk to me, please."

"What do you mean?" Chris' tone was defensive. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Sam stared hard at his partner, but the American wouldn't meet his eyes. "Chris, you're all... I don't know, defensive all the time, like just now, not like your normal self at all. And there's this bird. I keep smelling her perfume but you're so secretive about her."

Chris turned on him, pouring on the sarcasm. "Right, so I'm not allowed to have a private life that you don't know about? I have to report everything I do, everyone I see to you? That isn't in my contract, Curtis, and if it's gonna get written in then I want no part of it."

"That's not what I meant at all, Chris, I just meant – "

"And anyway," Chris interrupted as if Sam hadn't spoken at all, "you know very well this assignment I'm on is hush-hush. I'm not allowed to be anything but secretive, so don't start seeing problems where there aren't any."

"This is different, Chris," Sam said forcefully, "you're hiding things that your assignment should have no bearing on. Your personal life, the way you are with me, with Backup. It almost seems like you're becoming paranoid, and not a healthy kind of paranoia either. And that's not you, Chris. There's something going on here, and I want to know what it is. If need be, I want to help." There, he'd said it. He watched Chris anxiously and took in the expressions that flitted across the other man's face; guilt and shock, amongst others, but finally resting on cold anger.

"I think you've said enough, Sam," Chris replied softly. "I guess I'll see you when we're both back at work." Chris grabbed his jacket and stalked, jaw clenching, to the stairs. "I'd appreciate it if you weren't here when I get back," he called as he went down the stairs.

"Chris..." Sam called out, but it was too late. The door slammed shut with a finality that told him that their friendship could well be over.

Feeling his aches more keenly than he really cared to acknowledge, Sam waited for Chris to return, hoping that it was just a fit of temper that his partner would blow off. But he gave up after an hour or so and went home with a sense of impending doom.

*****

Forster looked on excitedly as the pilot, Keel, took Brennan and Ludlum through modifications that needed to be made. Keel seemed to have a comfortable rapport with Epsilon and even Ludlum was taking note of what the American said, the results being spot on every time. It was eerily close to the relationship that Craig had had, but still Forster chose to ignore that. He had done everything in his power to ensure that a close eye was kept on Keel, subjecting him to daily psychological tests and so far, although there seemed to be some protective issues where Epsilon was concerned, there was none of the extreme behaviour Craig had exhibited. So despite Hemmings' ongoing concerns, he ignored them and refused to acknowledge there was any reason to worry.

*****

That night Chris made his way over to the waiting taxi, forcing himself, as usual, away from Epsilon. It was becoming harder to leave her every day. Each step seemed to almost physically hurt, tying his guts in a knot, his heart squeezing painfully and his chest constricting to leave him breathless with anxiety, the profound feeling of loss making his eyes tear. The only thing that enabled him to leave her each day was knowing that he'd be back the following day. If he ever had to leave her knowing it was permanent, he knew he wouldn't be able to do it – she was a part of him as much as he was a part of her.

He knew very well that he should report the phenomenon, knew that he should consider putting forward his own unfitness for the job. But it was way too deep and personal, and Chris felt ridiculously protective of her. And as long as the testing was not compromised, he couldn't see that reporting the situation fully could benefit the project, only put it back again and cost more money.

No one would thank him for bringing it up, he decided.

The psychological tests were a snap for him. He'd been through far too many after Teresa had died, then as SOP with both the SEALs and CI5. He only ever got caught out when shrinks who knew him got creative. The ones at HAIDA didn't know him and their tests were relatively basic, so he was able to keep it consistent.

Except that one shrink, the one who had warned him. Hemmings. She seemed to know something though she wasn't letting on what, and she was harder to fool.

Chris caught himself; he was actually trying to fool the shrinks. Didn't that in itself indicate that something was wrong?

He mentally shook his head. No, it just meant that he was protecting Epsilon, protecting the project.

*****

Sam opened the door to admit a striking dark haired woman in her late forties. She introduced herself as Marion Hemmings and Sam let her in. He'd been expecting her since her mysterious phone call earlier in the afternoon.

After she was settled with a cup of tea, he indicated the files she'd put on the table.

"What's this all about?" he asked.

She explained that she worked for HAIDA, and that Keel was assigned there for the moment. She explained further that although she couldn't go into any details of Keel's project, she was certain that it was affecting him. Her boss, Forster, had seen her reports but had dismissed them as being overly pessimistic.

She said that it was a gut feeling more than anything Keel had said and, as such, she was unable to take official action. Keel had mentioned Sam frequently at the beginning of his assignment as being his closest friend, although he mentioned him far less now.

She came to the point. "I need to know if Keel has been exhibiting certain symptoms that he may have kept hidden at HAIDA. Have you noticed anything – odd – in his behaviour?"

Sam was not about to gossip about his partner behind his back and merely asked, "Such as?"

Hemmings hesitated before she elaborated. "Such as unpredictable mood swings, paranoia, secret and obsessive behaviour," she said.

Sam looked at the floor and considered her words. Yes, Chris was exhibiting signs of all of the above, but he was still not ready to tell this woman, this stranger. He would have to check her out first. "I couldn't say," he said blandly. "I haven't seen him for a while."

Marion stared at him, and Sam felt as if she could see right through him.

"Very well," she said. "Perhaps it would help if I told you that Keel's predecessor committed suicide. I don't want to see the same thing happen to your partner." She seemed to consider something carefully, chewing at her lip. "I shouldn't be doing this," she said, "but I've checked you out thoroughly. I have contacts even in CI5."

Julia Carrington, thought Sam, he'd lay money on it.

"I think I can trust you," she continued, "and understand that you may feel the need to ensure you can trust me. I'm leaving you Craig Durrell's file, Keel's predecessor. Please, let me know if there's any substance to what I'm saying. My card's in the file too. If there is, I need to get Keel away from Ep – the project as soon as possible before any more damage is done."

"Damage?" asked Sam.

She looked abashed. "That may be too strong a word but if, and I do mean if, there are any detrimental side effects to the project, we don't know if it's reversible. The only other pilot involved in the project was Durrell and, of course, he's no longer accessible."

Sam nodded, and Marion rose to leave. "Please, think about it."

*****

She was there in his living room again. A perfect, translucent statue standing in the same place as she nearly always did. Chris was virtually hypnotised by her ephemeral presence and spent a long time running his fingers through the air, following the line of her jaw, her cheekbone as he imagined that he could almost feel her.

"I never want you to leave me, Chris," she whispered. "I want us to be together for always. We can love and protect each other into eternity - that's what you've always wanted, isn't it?"

"Yes," he hissed, a barely audible sound.

"Isn't it?" she repeated. "Tell me, please."

"Yes," he said, a little louder. "I want you with me now and forever."

"We can be if you want it badly enough, Chris. One day, we can take the final flight of our dreams and we'll be together, flying forever..."

And she was gone, leaving him achingly lonely. Alone.

*****

Sam stood at Chris' front door, nervous but determined. It was late, but the time was the closest guarantee that he could get that the American would be home.

When Chris answered neither of them could meet the other's eyes, though Sam couldn't help but notice how washed out his partner seemed to be. After a moment of awkward shuffling, Sam was invited in.

"Sorry about the other day," Chris mumbled as he got the coffee. "I was just a bit stressed, you know how it is.

Sam nodded slightly to acknowledge the apology and swallowed as he searched for the words to tell Chris what he needed to.

"I had an interesting conversation with someone today," he began, accepting the mug of coffee that Chris handed to him.

"Oh?" said Chris, with a sly smile. "A break from your currently mundane existence? Who was it, a checkout chick?"

"Funny, Keel, funny, I don't think." Sam laughed as his partner's normal good humour shone through, even if only for a brief moment. "No, it was someone who's acquainted with Craig Durrell." Well, it wasn't a complete lie and after having had Backup check Hemmings out thoroughly, he wasn't about to tell tales on her. "Ever heard of him?"

Chris tilted his head to the side as he considered before slowly shaking his head. "No. Should I have?"

"Probably," said Sam carefully. "He was the original test pilot for Project Epsilon."

Chris gazed at him through narrowed eyes. "And?" he asked, and Sam sighed.

"I know you're working on Project Epsilon, Chris. And there are some things that you ought to know about Craig's experiences with it, things that could change your mind about continuing with it." Sam saw his partner tense up, acquiring a dangerous glint in his eye, and he forged on, determined to get his piece in before Chris kicked him out again. "I've put his file on the table. Please just do us both a favour and read it – "

"So, what you're really saying," Chris broke in angrily, "is that you want me to quit. What's the matter, jealous? Can't stand it that I'm doing something that I get real kick out of while you're stuck in your humdrum little routine waiting for some quack to give you permission to go out and get yourself shot again? Well tough, Curtis, I'm sticking with it." His eyes flashed as he stepped towards Curtis. "There is no way in hell that I'm abandoning her again, so get with the – "

"Chris!" Sam moved back and put his hands up defensively. "I'm worried about you and so's Backup. We're even thinking about going to Malone and asking him to see if he can get you pulled out."

Stepping away again, Chris scrubbed his hand through his hair and looked at the floor, his temper cooling at least on the surface. "I'll take a look Sam, okay?" he muttered. "But I'm not leaving her. I'll just be... more careful maybe, whatever."

"I suppose that'll have to do," said Sam quietly.

*****

"We have to push this forward," Aisha stated calmly, though her agitation was clear by the speed her fingers flew over her keyboards.

"I agree," replied Drasic. "It would give me great pleasure to extend it, but this Curtis is becoming too suspicious. We should end it quickly. Advise Kleon to adjust the interface accordingly."

Aisha nodded. "I've sent the signal." She paused. "We could always eliminate Curtis...?"

Drasic considered that option briefly, but finally shook his head. "No, we would be inviting the suspicions of his superiors. We should keep it simple. One man going insane is enough."

"There's nothing simple about this," Aisha reprimanded him. "The things we do to discredit people and organisations are never simple."

*****

Marion put down the phone with a grimace. Keel was apparently refusing to even listen and, from what Curtis had just told her, had become extremely angry at just the suggestion that he should drop out of the project. Macho pride, she thought, or was he further gone that she'd thought? The latter, she guessed, judging by what Curtis hadn't said in their brief conversation.

Elbows on her desk and head in her hands, she didn't know what to do next. She'd kept Forster appraised in daily reports, highlighting her opinion of Keel's possible instability and more, stressing her feeling that the cause of pilot breakdowns was the interface with Epsilon.

What more could she do?

*****

Sam arrived at Chris' place to pick him up the following morning and, as was so often the case when he was expected, the front door was unlocked. With a cheery good morning, he bounded up the stairs, realising for the first time that his chest no longer ached. He'd already started the field retraining, though gently to start with, and was due to begin the intensive stuff in a day or so. Naturally, he was looking forward more and more to being active again with each day that passed.

As he reached the top step, Sam paused in shock. It was so fleeting he couldn't be sure, but for a brief nanosecond it looked as though a woman stood before Chris, a woman who was a dead ringer for his partner's dead wife. And Sam would have put it down to his imagination if it hadn't been for the sight of Chris still standing there alone with pure anguish written across his features.

Then the moment was broken and the American bolted past Sam and down the stairs.

"Chris, wait! What's going on?"

Chris stopped and stared at him. "Epsilon," he said with faint surprise. "Our final flight, remember?" Without further explanation the American ran from the flat, and squealed away in his Nissan.

Sam was about to follow, but he knew where Chris was going and an idea had occurred to him. What if the vision he'd seen wasn't a figment of his imagination? Moving as fast as he could, he tore through Chris' living room looking for something very specific.

He found it. Or rather, one of them.

One of a set of tiny projectors that could create a three dimensional image.

He dashed out to his car, calling his findings in to Malone and demanding that something be done. To give the old man his due, although he grumbled, he'd obviously been briefed by Backup, maybe even Carrington. He was on the case immediately, dispatching two small teams of off-duty personnel – all in the interests of keeping inter-agency conflict unofficial – one to Keel's flat and one to HAIDA.

Sam put his foot on the gas as he began to read more than one meaning into Keel's comment about his final flight.

*****

Forster cursed as he read Hemmings' latest report. Possible this and probable that, but nothing conclusive. Yet Forster now recognised that Keel was going down the same road that Durrell had taken.

But it was too late. They'd come too far. Epsilon was almost ready for demonstration. To get another pilot now would be industrial suicide because they'd have to put the project back yet again and funding would be cut. He wished he'd taken notice of Hemmings earlier, but with her knack for not stating anything with any degree of certainty, how could he have?

What should he do?

The receptionist urgently requesting his presence in the lobby saved him from having to make a decision.

*****

Sam screeched into the HAIDA car park and saw Chris' car already parked there, but no sign of the CI5 team. Cursing, he hauled out his ID and tried to push through security. The guards moved to stop him, but before a fight could break out Forster called a halt.

"Who are you and what do you think you're trying to do?"

"Curtis, CI5! My part – Keel, your test pilot – he's going to take Epsilon up right now – "

Forster shook his head, "No, Epsilon's not scheduled to fly today – how do you know about the project?"

Sam shook his head in frustration. "It doesn't matter at the moment. I think Keel's going to...do something stupid..."

"I think we should let Mr Curtis through," came another, familiar, voice. Hemmings glared at Foster. "I believe we have a repeat of Craig Durrell's performance on our hands."

"Shit!" Forster cursed volubly and ordered security to find Keel, allowing Sam and Hemmings to join them.

Hemmings lead the way to Epsilon, using the logic that that would be where Keel would turn up sooner or later. They arrived to find Brennan unconscious on the ground and Keel at the bottom of the ladder to Epsilon's cockpit.

"Brennan's not supposed be working on Epsilon today," Hemmings muttered as Sam brushed past her.

"Chris!" Sam called, and Keel hesitated turning to face the Englishman. Sam pulled up in front of him. "Chris, you do not want to do this, you do not want to end up like Craig. There's something wrong with Epsilon and she's going to get you killed."

"You have no idea what I want, Sam," Chris said, meeting his eyes with a calm serenity that frightened the Englishman. "And I can assure you that Epsilon is perfect. She won't get me killed or anything else unless I want it. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"No, I don't," Sam replied sharply. "But I do know that if you try and get up that ladder, I'll deck you."

Chris nodded and his shoulders slumped in defeat as he turned away from Epsilon. Sam felt a little guilty and put a hand on Chris' shoulder in support. The next thing he knew his ears were ringing as he lay on the floor, an unexpected elbow having rammed into the side of his head. A short, "Sorry, Sam, but you don't understand," filtered through the noise - Chris' voice, he realised, even as he tried to make his mouth work to try and stop his partner.

It was too late. Sam blinked watering eyes to see the American wielding Sam's own gun to keep Hemmings and the newly arrived security guards at bay. Then the cockpit hood closed and the engines roared to life.

*****

Forster skidded into the hanger, almost literally tearing his hair out as Epsilon rolled towards the runway with Curtis and Hemmings standing helplessly by. He caught sight of Nick Brennan moaning on the floor and helped him up, at the same time shaking him and demanding answers.

"What happened?" he pleaded. "Please tell me that I'm not going to lose another plane..."

Brennan rubbed at his head and shakily unwrapped another chewing gum, popping it into his mouth before he slowly replied. "Looks that way," he said. "In fact, I'd stake my reputation on it."

"Oh Christ, what am I going to do? How the hell did everything get so...? Nick?" Forster stared at Brennan for a moment. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be out with suppliers..." And understanding finally dawned on Forster as pieces started to fall into place for him.

Brennan met his eyes and said nothing, only the sad cast to his features indicating any admission of guilt.

Forster's world crumbled as the security guards took Brennan away.

*****

Chris laughed inwardly, relaxing as they flew. Ignoring and therefore shrugging off the restricted HAIDA airspace, they felt freedom such as they had never known before. Their own single entity, at one with the sky, wind rushing past, gliding over streamlined planes, the sun far away yet closer than the earth below, dancing around the small clouds sailing along, playing, diving, rolling, wrapped in rapturous wonder and glee.

`If only this could never end,' Chris thought to himself, eyes closed as he allowed the sensations of dipping and soaring to roll through him, sight a boring and redundant sense.

`It doesn't have to,' Epsilon whispered into his brain, `we can fly the eternal skies together. You said you wanted to.'

`Would be nice,' he smiled. `I'm so tired.'

`I know. It would be perfection to rest, wouldn't it? Never have to do anything more than fly to our hearts content.'

`Nirvana, don't you think?'

`Yes, Chris, I do. And it's within our reach right now.'

`It is?' Chris opened his eyes again, and noticed the ocean sparkling below. How long had they been flying?

`The sea,' Epsilon murmured. `One last dive, a final exhilaration and let the ocean take us home. This is the perfect place, no innocents, no ground-dwellers, just us. Together.'

Chris stared, mesmerised, at the glittering water as adrenaline began a slow burn of anticipation. Almost subconsciously he guided them higher until they reached their ceiling. Then, banking into a graceful arc, they spiralled lazily downwards, the circles tightening into a spin, and he whooped long and loud at the adrenaline rush that gripped him.

"Chris! Snap out of it!"

What? That was Sam, and Chris tried to ignore him. The Englishman was always trying to spoil things.

"Chris, answer me, damn it!"

`Silly boy thinks he can stop us,' Epsilon laughed softly. `He doesn't understand.'

`No, he doesn't, but don't hold it against him,' Chris laughed.

`Ground-dwellers.' Her sultry tones were full of contempt.

`Don't. It's not their fault they can't understand.' He watched the sea spinning closer as the G-force squeezed them together dizzily and a part of him, the part that was still sane, surged up in denial of what he was doing even as his blood sang with the promise of freedom.

"Chris! What the hell do you think you're doing? Pull up! You're going to kill yourself!"

`He's panicking,' Chris observed, his heart racing wildly with a kaleidoscopic mixture of rapture and terror as the wind battered at them.

`We'll soon be home, Chris, just you and me, forever...'

The air screamed past them and he angled for a clean dive, resisting the horror-filled instinct to stop ...

*****

Her fingers flying over the sophisticated equipment that resided in the back of Daisy, Backup found the signal that was being broadcast directly to Epsilon. The simplicity was astounding, the perpetrators using the single fact that no one had thought to monitor Epsilon's transmissions on anything but the allocated frequencies.

Breaking the connection, however, was anything but easy, the signal switching frequencies even as she moved to cut it off. But, like dismembering an octopus, Backup blocked every frequency the signal used until finally it ceased, apparently having used all the bands it was willing to try.

She called through to Sam, even as she ran the information gathered while the signal had been broadcasting to try and find the culprits.

*****

"Backup's severed the connection, Chris! Please, you've got to hear me! You've got to stop this now!"

`... Chris honey, don't do this.'

Huh?

`Go back, Chris, go back to your friends before it's too late.'

But...? Her perfume wafted faintly past him, and it seemed as if he'd stepped out of his body, out of Epsilon, everything that was happening was so far away.

`If you love me this much, you'll take yourself back home and get on with your life.'

Oh God, Teresa, I do love you.

`Then go back. Not here, not like this, please.'

I love you...

Chris jolted back to a reality that spun wildly, thick waves rolling below him, impact only seconds away. The interface was somehow switched off and he felt heavy, the G-force only adding to the weight, pushing him back into his seat. Automatically he flicked switches and balanced pedals in an effort to bring the spin down to a more a manageable slow twist. Using all his willpower, he forced leaden arms and clumsy fingers to pull back on the joystick, determined to do everything in his power to bring Epsilon out of her dive.

Slowly, so slowly, the nose started to come up, but it wasn't fast enough. The sea was coming at him far too rapidly and he knew there was no way he could pull them up in time.

*****

As he stared at the screen time slowed, and Forster knew with utter certainty that Epsilon and her pilot were as good as dead; Brennan's betrayal had cost him everything. There was no possible way that they could avoid crashing into the sea. Even if Keel ejected he was too low and, more importantly, Epsilon would still be lost.

He was vaguely surprised that the world did not literally crash about his ears. Rather, there was a strange emptiness as all feeling left him. He was detached from the world, detached from the destruction of Epsilon, the destruction of HAIDA, the destruction of his life.

Emotionless, he walked into his office and locked the door. The shouting in the control room completely drowned out the sound of the single gunshot.

*****

A jolt, and they were one again. He knew something was missing though he had no time to ascertain exactly what, able only to act on pure instinct. Twisting wildly, they missed skimming the surface of the ocean by a hairsbreadth before shooting back up into the heavens. Faced with only blue sky, Chris suddenly reached the conclusion that he'd had enough and passed out.

*****

Drasic sneered privately to himself as he stepped out into the warehouse. With the death of Epsilon he was about to make an obscene amount of money in Jaric's stead. And, with the demise of her pilot, Grigori's death and his own grief were avenged, like for like.

It was with confidence that he walked towards Harry Malone himself, guarded by the man who had failed to guard Jaric, Samuel Curtis, as he himself was guarded by Aisha. This time was different though. This time, Jaric was not there; Jaric with his fingers in too many pies, Jaric who offended people, Jaric who'd brought a hit squad upon them, Jaric who had caused Grigori's death.

Having given Jaric no thought since he'd died, it abruptly dawned on Drasic now that CI5 were not responsible for the outcome of the shootout at the warehouse, but he chose to ignore it. What was done was done. Now it only remained for him to trade the drawings of Shevarim and Ngasco, two planes similar to Epsilon under development elsewhere in the world. And for large quantities of money - even more since Kleoniki had been caught and therefore forfeited his share.

It had been Jaric's idea, and a clever one. His next step would be to trade the Epsilon schematics to the developers of the conveniently `failed' Shevarim and Ngasco projects. Drasic now understood Jaric's love of corporate espionage and international politics. How fortuitous that these outwardly allied countries did not really share.

As they approached Malone, however, Drasic had an uncomfortable feeling that grew at an alarming rate as he noted a faint hint of amusement in the Englishman's gaze. Surely they couldn't know of their plans?

But they did.

And, as Curtis slipped the handcuffs on, he came to the conclusion that Kleoniki had not been as loyal as he'd thought, obviously having spent too long working for Forster.

*****

**Epilogue**

It took a long while for Sam to rid himself of the images he carried of his partner, of the pale, unconscious form in the cockpit after Epsilon had safely landed - which was a mystery in itself. By all accounts, Chris had passed out while still in the air and the interface had apparently been switched off according to readouts. Much later, when asked to explain, the American had looked away, his eyes haunted, and simply replied that she'd looked after him.

For the first few hours after his partner had regained consciousness, Sam had put himself through the agony of watching Chris ranting and pacing in small empty room at CI5 headquarters before subsiding into a quiet, angst-ridden heap by the wall.

Carrington had said it was just reaction, an overload of physical and emotional stimulation that simply had to be allowed to run its course. But it shook Sam to the core. He knew that Chris had loved his wife deeply, but it was something that he couldn't really relate to and the subject had never been discussed.

He just hoped with his entire being that the American was strong enough to get through it and move on.

*****

Backup stared at the tiny projector in front of her, the lab reports scattered about her desk. They'd stripped Keel's flat and found not only the projectors that had held a hologram extrapolated from a wedding photograph, but also a transmitter that had given voice to the ghost.

In her view it was a cruel trick to play on someone and she sympathised completely with Keel's reaction once it was all over. There were still loose ends though. Chris had mentioned the ghost appearing in his bedroom on a couple of occasions, and both he and Sam had told of perfume around those times, yet nothing had been found there to explain it. Only the living room had been wired.

Without Sam's verification, no matter how tenuous, she would have put it down to the experience Chris had been through confusing things in his own mind. But she couldn't, and that bugged the hell out of her.

Kleoniki Schleush, known in recent years as Nick Brennan, had apparently been responsible for setting Epsilon up, for enabling Drasic's signal to mesh with the interface, altering connections to stimulate specific parts of both mind and body, the entirety generating confusion and susceptibility. But those symptoms, and the side effects of fatigue and a subsequent lack of co-ordination, were very much temporary given time away from the machine. And Backup guessed that Chris would be very happy at finally being allowed to go home after being kept downstairs at CI5 where Carrington could keep a close eye on him.

Deciding that they'd done everything possible, she filed the recommendation that Keel's apartment be regarded as clear.

*****

The relief Chris felt at finally knowing for sure that he wasn't going crazy was immeasurable. He was so happy when he got the news that he could have cried, the only thing stopping him being that Carrington would have had him locked up in a padded cell quick as a flash if he did. But the weight that lifted from his mind still left him light headed and weak.

He was angry beyond imagination that those people had perverted his memories of someone very special to him, and in a lot of ways he was in mourning again for her.

But, for him to move on, there was one more thing he had to do.

Malone wasn't happy about it, but as Carrington and Hemmings had both condoned the idea he could hardly object.

*****

Roderick Ludlum greeted them, and Chris was vaguely amused to see that the man's face was no longer quite so sour. There was real grief in his eyes; he had been genuinely loyal to Forster, but there was a gleefulness about him that transcended it.

"She works!" was the first thing Ludlum said, shaking his hand. "She really works! Any pilot can fly her, no compatibility problems, no fatigue, no ah, other problems... she works!"

"Congratulations," Chris said half-heartedly. "Can I see her?"

"Certainly, this way, my boy, but ah, of course, you already know. It's all rather fortuitous, we still have funding, HAIDA's at the forefront... Stephen would be so proud..." Ludlum continued rambling as they made their way through to the hanger.

The moment he saw her standing alone in her hanger, Chris knew she was different. There was something missing.

He walked slowly towards her, trying to figure out exactly what it was. The metal under his fingertips felt cold and impersonal, and when he climbed up to the cockpit there was no feeling of belonging there. He climbed into the pilot's seat and, despite the protestations of those outside, donned and activated the interface.

He was one with Epsilon, but he didn't recognise it as the same. She was heavy, not truly a part of him. It was almost as though her soul had gone, that she was simply a machine, albeit a complex and powerful one, awaiting a command. There was no unity, and to Chris it was as if she were dead, just a shell.

He switched off the interface and sat silently in the cockpit for the longest time, grieving for the loss of something that had never really been.

Something niggled though, and as he realised what it was he smiled slightly running his fingers over the instrument panel. No matter what had gone before, at the very end she'd brought him home of her own volition, and though the sour-faced Ludlum could come up with any explanation he pleased, nothing would make him believe any different.

*****

Sitting on the edge of his bed, she reached out a hand to caress his cheek. He stirred slightly and she stilled, watching him carefully. Eventually, she smiled a secret little smile and bent her head to ghost her lips over his, pulling away as he murmured and sighed contentedly in his sleep. "I'll never leave you," she whispered softly. "I love you too much."

"Mmmmm," he sighed again, never waking up, and she laughed in silent merriment, fading away but leaving just a hint of perfume in the air.

FINIS

 


End file.
